


Vampronica

by LadyLaviniya



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Buffy the Vampire Slayer References, Carmilla References, F/F, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), True Blood References, Vampire Slayer(s), Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-25 12:16:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9820181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLaviniya/pseuds/LadyLaviniya
Summary: A few weeks ago in the sleepy town of Riverdale, a new mystery rolled into town.Her name is Veronica Lodge. She's nothing like they've ever seen before.And she's got a taste for the girl next door.[Hiatus]





	1. New Lodgings

The trunk of the car is surprisingly quite comfy.

“Ms. Hermione, are you quite certain Miss. Veronica will be all right in there?” Smithers’ old voice is warm but quiet, drowning beneath the rumbles of the car’s engine and its vibrations. She can see him position his hands, readying himself to open the lid to get her out of this contraption the second she bangs against its walls. “Perhaps I could bring her a small pillow to put under her knees—back pain, you know?”

“She’ll be fine, Smithers.” Mom says, gentle as his old soul. “You and I are well aware Veronica is a lot tougher than she looks. Besides, we need to get moving before Hiram...” she either trails off or lowers her voice, Veronica can’t tell. All she knows is Daddy’s supposed to meet them there, at Mom’s hometown of Riverdale. Goodbye New York, hello Old Times.

What did Mom say Riverdale was like? Quaint, set in their ways, peppy, she believes were the exact words. She didn’t say friendly, or intriguing, or hell, safe.

Long, manicured fingernails tap against the stainless steel inches above her face. “Are we clear?”

Veronica places her hand where she thinks Mom’s is. Cold fingers touch a familiar fabric—velvet, most likely, probably a rich red, or deep blue. It’s so dark she can’t tell exactly how close her hand is in proximity to her eyes, but it’s pretty damn close—centimeters, in fact. There isn’t enough room to bend her knees, much less prop a pillow under them.

Smithers clears his throat. He’s probably adjusting his bowtie while he says, “As a bell, Ma’am.” She hears the worn soles of his black dress shoes trudge through the gravel before the car moves and a door closes shut. He’s in the driver’s seat now.

Veronica heaves a sigh, folding her hands over her abdomen, pushing against it to give the illusion of pressure. Her stomach gurgles in response. The one drawback she finds in lying on her back is the weightlessness of her front, like anxiety without the fear. Her body has formed a crater at the center of her physical being, and all her organs are imploding. She clenches a fist and presses harder, growling at the familiar, unwelcome feeling that never fails to piss her off. Instinctively, her foot reaches out and she kicks at the other side of her little box, hissing and biting her bottom lip when the pain is a bit too hard to handle in just flats.

“Don’t you worry,” Mom says in a low voice, the tips of her nails treading along the top of her box in pitter-pats. God, why is she still standing there? “Riverdale isn’t a long ways off. Sleep. When you wake up, I’ll show you everything, okay? Have patience.”

Although neither of them can see, Veronica nods. She’ll make do with this pitch-black, air-tight, futuristic mode of transportation—the first of its kind: the sleek, modern travel coffin.

A gift from Daddy, of course, because his little girl deserves only the best.

She doesn’t sleep, but closes her eyes anyway. She hasn’t eaten in two days, nine hours, twenty-three minutes, forty-five seconds and counting. It keeps her up, not just the gnawing pangs of hunger, but the bittersweet memory of the last feeding.

The warm stickiness of blood like rich, melted butter; the sweet, tender flesh of her favorite maid who always smelled like a fresh strawberry-banana smoothie; the thrill of doing it in her closet, surrounded by beautiful clothes in the midst of packing them up...

Her maid was a beautiful creature. Shoulder-length, fluffy brunette locks constantly bouncing as she shuffled from room to room, tall and slender (not enough to land her that modeling gig though, despite the strings Veronica tried to pull), a little older than her usual meals, but nonetheless nourishing. She was quiet and demure when introduced, as all the waitstaff were at first, but after a few years one definitely wouldn’t have recognized her.

“Nica...” she moaned as was pushed up against the wall, holding a fistful of raven locks in virgin-clean hands as Veronica slowly worked her way down, “Turn me...”

Veronica shudders. She just had to kill the mood.

She’ll have to pick her first meal in Riverdale very carefully. The first taste is the most important. She can’t afford to have another Vivian on her hands.

* * *

Betty sighs, wiping away the sweat of her brow before stapling another flyer to the opposite side of the telephone pole. The sun cares little for her plight and shows no mercy as usual. Day three hundred and seventy-eight since Polly’s gone missing, and virtually everyone’s given up. Everyone except her, as always. Betty Cooper is always the last one standing.

She looks back at her handiwork up and down the block and decides to break for lunch. Pop’s is just right around the corner, and she could use the social interaction the retro diner atmosphere always encourages. There’s a very good chance she’ll run into Archie and Jughead sitting at their usual booth and they could hang for a bit before she gets back to pounding the pavement. Maybe she could get them to help on the outside.

When she gets to Pop Tate’s and greets him fondly, she finds her two favorite boys exactly where she expects. Archie is in the middle of a tale; Jughead sits across from him, busily storing a hamburger in his mouth much in the same vein her hamster did with cucumbers, cheeks puffing out like old Bartholomew’s. Betty giggles at the sight of him, and Jughead waves her over, grinning. She knows he’s only smiling because he has food, but given his circumstances, it’s completely understandable.

“Hey, boys,” she greets, stopping at Archie’s side of the table. Just out of sight is a pile of empty plates in the seat next to Jughead. Six so far. “What are we talking about?”

Archie pauses for a moment and moves over to let her sit. “An old friend of my dad’s is moving back to town, and rumor has it she has a daughter our age.”

“And—” Jughead swallows half his burger to inject, “Her name is Hermione Lodge.”

Betty furrows her brow. “The daughter or the mother?”

“The mother.” Down goes the other half. “But it’s her surname that’s the clincher.” He raises his hand and waves to Pops behind the counter. “Pops, another round of burgers over here, my good man! And Betty’s usual shake!”

“You got it, Jug!”

Archie taps her shoulder to get her attention, and Betty flips her hair to face him. “Mrs. Lodge may have grown up here, but the Lodge family hasn’t been back in almost a century.”

“So?”

“Last anyone heard, something happened in New York that made them go off the grid for three years. And now, after all this time, mother and daughter suddenly emerge, coming back to Riverdale. Don’t you think that’s strange, Betty?”

And there it is. Archie Andrews is always on the hunt for something strange, mysterious, indescribably unreal. Jughead Jones, more a foodie than a mystery-seeker, is slowly but surely following his best friend’s foray into the land of what’s best left alone, provided there’s food, of course. And Betty Cooper, the only one rooted in reality, has to keep them tethered before they disappear into the night without a word.

She won’t let what happened to Polly happen to them too. She’d lose the will to live.

Betty tilts her head as she smiles at him, a soft, sweet smile reserved just for him, and strokes his warm cheek with the backs of her fingers. Archie’s gaze never wavers. Behind her, she can hear Pops bring them their orders.

“I think you’re overthinking it, Andrews,” she says finally, and turns just as Pops is about to place her milkshake on the table, flashing him a grateful smile. While Jughead digs into the first of eighteen burgers on the platter, Betty steals one and hands it to Archie. “If things were different, you know I’d be all in, but right now, I don’t have time for speculations on any newcomer’s business. Not unless they bring me any closer to finding Polly.”

He nods solemnly, biting into the burger. “Can I still count on you to give the new girl a tour of the school? Take note of anything interesting about her?”

She takes a sip of her strawberry shake, and dangles the cherry before his lips. “Absolutely.”

Archie opens his mouth, and Betty pops in the cherry. It takes him three minutes to tie the stem of the tiny fruit into a knot, and both she and Jughead applaud.

* * *

An indeterminate amount of time later, the car stops, and she is finally released. The lid opens so painfully slow she has time to recite Dracula’s monologue with dramatic hand gestures and pauses between each sentence before she gets a full glimpse of her mother drenched in the orange glow of evening light, hands on her hips, trying not to show any sign of amusement.

“Welcome to Riverdale, Ronnie,” she says dryly, offering a hand to help her up and out of her box.

Veronica smirks and accepts the hand up, craning her neck this way and that to relieve the ache of not moving the entire day. She perches at the edge of the trunk, swinging her legs. “Can we get something to eat before we unpack? It’s been two days and however long it really took us to get here.”

“Five days for me,” Mom rolls her eyes. “You’ll learn to hold out for longer and longer the more you age, for lack of a better word. We’re lucky sleeping helps.”

Veronica darts her eyes to her feet. And here she thought Mom tells her that with the same intent she used to when she was a child.

Mom chuckles, cupping Veronica’s face in her hands. “Let’s go to Pop Tate’s Chock’lit Shoppe and get Smithers something to eat. We’ll find you a nice boy or girl to sample. Riverdale has some great bloodlines.” At Veronica’s nod, Mom presses a loving kiss to her brow and calls to Smithers to ask him what he’d like for dinner.

* * *

She’s still at the diner with the guys when five-thirty rolls around. The little bell above the door jingles and Jughead stops chewing momentarily to stare at whoever came in. Archie notices and stops talking before they both turn to look. She’d be lying if she said she isn’t at least interested to meet the new girl, even if she isn’t planning on getting involved in her business. Her heart sinks when she catches a flash of red, and she quickly returns to sipping her shake.

 _Please don’t see me, please don’t come over, please don’t_ —

“Betty-boo!”

Blue eyes squeeze shut. _Oh_ , _no_...

Riverdale’s most renowned resident of the twenty-first century, Cheryl Blossom, graces all with her presence.

Betty doesn’t even have to look to know Cheryl is sashaying towards their booth. She can feel Cheryl’s ego flooding the entire diner like the Smooze, stopping right up to her neck. She puts on her best plastic smile as she draws near, unconsciously inching closer to Archie. “Hi, Cheryl!”

Cheryl giggles, flipping her long red locks over her shoulder. “How’ve you been, Betty Booper? Has Polly called?”

She can’t keep up her act for long, and lets her smile fade as she shakes her head, high blonde ponytail trailing after her. “Not yet.”

“Oh, how sad...” Feigning an exaggerated pout, Cheryl places a hand over her heart. “I’m sorry, Betty. That must be so awful for you, and your poor, sweet mother!”

Betty nods. “It is.” She tenses when Cheryl moves to touch her, resting her knee on the small spot of the soft diner seat, and pets her head in slow, soft strokes. She discreetly slides her own hand on Archie’s knee and tries to squeeze, unwilling to break eye contact with Cheryl lest she give her an advantage.

“Poor, sweet Betty,” Cheryl coos, moving on to stroke her cheek, “If only you had someone to help you through this rough patch you’re going through. Someone with money—” she tapers her touch from a pale hand to a single finger, her smooth voice growing more faint as she goes on, “—connections—” her finger traces the outline of Betty’s jaw, trailing down the side of her neck, “—and _influence_...” She begins to draw little circles on Betty’s shoulder.

“Care to comment?” she whispers clear into her ear. Her breath reeks of tuna fish and who knows what else.

It takes a great deal of restraint not to pull away. Betty finally breaks their gaze, staring straight ahead at the pile of empty, crumb-covered plates sitting across from her. For once she’s glad Jughead is an abnormally big eater. She swallows. “Never again.”

The bell to Pop’s jingles again, but Betty almost doesn’t catch it, brushing it off as probably Jason coming to take Cheryl back to the swamp. From the corner of her eye she sees Cheryl move away and stand upright, and Jughead swallows what’s left of the last hamburger on his fifteenth regular plate with a large gulp. When Archie places a warm hand over hers, Betty finally turns around to see who had come into the diner when it grows eerily quiet.

A tall woman in a gray pencil skirt and a button-down shirt of the same color, long dark hair in waves flowing down her back, takes a look around first, remarking on how Pop’s is thankfully just as she remembers to a slightly shorter woman trailing behind her before placing her order. The woman—more accurately, the girl—is dressed casually in a white pleated skirt with a matching blouse, perhaps to accentuate her straight, long, raven locks.

Betty steals a glance at Cheryl, whose jaw is almost to the floor, and bites her own lip. She doesn’t recognize either one, but she has a pretty good guess who they are.

* * *

Veronica folds her arms across her chest in wait as Mr. “Just Call Me Pops” Tate takes Mom’s order and disappears into the kitchen. The result of their appearance in this place, while not grandiose by any means, is more than enough to keep her on edge. Gradually the noise level goes back up to where it was and she relaxes.

Mom rubs her shoulders. “It’s all right, _mija_ ,” she says softly, “We’ll eat soon, baby.”

She nods, taking a look around the place. Everyone who was staring at them now won’t meet her eyes. Figures. There’s an old jukebox in the corner on the left, and to her right, a group of teenagers chatting idly amongst themselves sans the ginger chick in the bold 1950s floral print dress standing there towering above the rest of them.

Surely one of them will do. Her bet’s on Gingersnaps, if only to relieve the eyesore.

She turns away, faces front, and begins to play with Mom’s hair, keeping watch from the corner of her eye. She tugs gently once on the right side to let her know she’s found a potential candidate.

Ginger says something to the person sitting closest to her, and when they don’t seem to react, she tries again. A high blonde ponytail nearly slaps the redheaded boy sitting next to her in the face as she turns to talk back to the first girl, who laughs. The blonde rises from her seat, and moves to stand in front of the girl, obscuring Veronica’s view of her, but does not reciprocate her mirth.

Two tugs to the right. She’s found a good one. Ginger girl has to go. Veronica turns her head slightly to get a better view. Emotions are escalating, even if the volume of their conversation stays relatively low. She cranes her neck to get a better hear.

“Cheryl, please stop...” the blonde girl begs. She’s near tears. “With or without your help, I am going to find Polly, but I can’t do this with you anymore. I’m tired, Cher. I’m so, _so_ tired, and the last thing I need is this, from you, here or anywhere else in Riverdale. You broke up with _me_. And I’m choosing to listen to what you told me the first time and staying _the hell_ away from you.” She takes a deep, shaky breath. “Please leave me alone.”

Cheryl slaps her clear across the face.

The two boys sitting in the booth jump up immediately—the redheaded boy in particular is especially quick, pulling the blonde girl away from Cheryl and turning her around to get a better look at her. Her face is already pretty red, but that slap... She’s trying so hard not to cry.

Oh, if Veronica’s blood could boil...

She gives Mom one final tug, this one a warning. Cheryl has to go. Right now, if possible.

“Ow! Veronica, enough. _I got it_...” hisses Mom, rubbing the crown of her head. She pushes her hands away and shakes her head to relieve the tension just as the blonde girl makes a break for it, passing them without a glance as she runs out of the diner.

“Betty, wait!” the redheaded boy calls after her.

_Betty. Her name is Betty._

“I’ll be back,” she says, and sprints out of the quaint little chock’lit shoppe. She said it mostly to Mom, but partially to that boy, too. He seems sweet, but he’ll never catch up to Betty quicker than she can.

The faint sounds of her own name being called get lost beneath the usual goings on of a small town about its evening as normal.

* * *

That’s the last time Cheryl Blossom hits her.

She runs all the way home and collapses on the lawn with burning lungs and tired feet, sweating and crying like she used to way too long ago. She takes a few minutes to collect herself before going in, seating herself on the steps and taking deep, calming breaths. God, she hates Cheryl so freaking much... why did she ever—

“Betty! Hey!” someone calls from the sidewalk.

Betty sniffles and wipes her eyes before looking up—she gasps. It’s the girl from the diner. Oh, God. She can’t help staring as the girl walks up the little path leading to her house, coming closer and closer. Oh, God, she’s even more pretty up close.

_Don’t stare, it’s rude._

“Are you okay?” the girl asks gently, kneeling down to meet her eye. Her brow furrows upon closer inspection, and she reaches up to touch her burning cheek but stops herself. “I’m so sorry. That chick’s a real bitch, who the hell does she think she is?”

Betty shakes her head, dropping her gaze to her knees and hugging them to her chest. “She’s Cheryl Blossom. She does what she likes.” She looks up at the raven-haired girl again, blue eyes meeting brown. “I-I didn’t catch your name.”

The girl smiles. “Veronica Lodge.”

Betty nods. “Betty Cooper. Nice to meet you, Veronica.”

“Likewise.” Veronica takes a seat next to her on the steps, staring at the lawn of the neighbors across the street. After a moment, she adds, “I, uh, have something that might help lessen the sting, if you want it.” At Betty’s nod, Veronica slowly places a gentle hand against her red cheek.

She jumps at how cold it is, like ice.

Veronica chuckles, thumbing away a stray tear. “My specialty. I’m a human iceberg all year round.”

She giggles as she leans in toward the soothing touch, sandwiching Veronica’s right hand between her left cheek and corresponding hand. “Thanks.” Veronica nods.

“Anytime.”

There’s little sun left in the sky, and the beautiful oranges and pinks and reds of the early evening make way for the more subdued purples and blues of the late. Silently, they watch the last rays of sun completely disappear from view, and when they do, Betty stands, helping Veronica to her feet.

“I’m going to head inside now. Thank you, Veronica, for coming all the way out here just to check up on me even though you seriously didn’t have to, and for... this.” She weakly raises her arm, still holding a cold hand, fingers laced together, releasing as she tilts her head towards the door. “Why don’t you come in and use the phone? Your parents must be worried about you. Or my mom could drive you back to Pop’s if you need—”

“Oh, no, it’s okay! My mom’s waiting for me at the diner. At least... I hope she is. She should be. I’ll be fine.” Veronica shrugs nonchalantly, adding after a brief pause, “And, uh, thanks for the invitation.”

Betty smiles. “Anytime. See you at school tomorrow? Weatherbee’s office, first thing?”

“Promise, promise,” Veronica winks, and before Betty knows it, she’s being pulled into a hug. A cold, tight... _wonderful_ hug. This close, Veronica smells amazing. Betty rests her head on her shoulder and closes her eyes, taking it all in. She smells so sweet, and she has such a strong grip, and... she’s completely and totally out of her league.

* * *

It just kind of happens, but it’s too late to take it back. Veronica makes sure to end up on Betty’s right side, away from her reddened cheek so she doesn’t hurt her. It takes a moment for Betty to warm up to her, but once she relaxes in her embrace, she’s light as a feather.

Oh, no.

Veronica pulls away, stifling a gasp at the sight of closed eyes. “Betty?”

Glassy blue eyes flutter open, and a cute, dumb smile crosses her new friend’s pretty face. “Hnh?”

She swallows. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay...” Betty nods, and Veronica watches her climb up the steps in a daze, lolling her head from side to side once she steadies her feet at the top. She slaps her hand against the wall and tries to insert her key into the lock three times before she gives up and just rings the bell. A older blonde woman in a pink cardigan opens it, and Betty all but falls into her arms.

Veronica bites her lip, trying to come up with a good explanation. To her relief, the lady, presumably Betty’s mother, doesn’t seem to notice her, too caught up in her daughter’s condition, and she closes the door immediately without a word to the girl standing beyond her steps.

Thank the gods.

But ohh... _fuck them_ too.

She just wanted to help her, not make a meal out of her, poor thing. It shouldn’t be long before the daze effect wears off and Betty becomes languid as hell.

Guess that makes Cheryl an unwanted dessert... unless Mom killed her already, in which case...

“Thanks for the invitation, Betty Cooper...” Veronica murmurs.


	2. Boom! Bombshell

Getting back to Pop’s takes a lot less time when she doesn’t have to keep slowing down to avoid detection. Combined with her unintentional second wind courtesy of Betty, for the first time in a long while, Veronica Lodge is invincible.

She zips past the idyllic, clean neighborhood scene straight to the main road, easily dodging old cars and couples walking their pets in a blink. Streetlights are strobe lights until she ducks into an alleyway, panting and rubbing her eyes in attempt to forcefully depress from her high. Everything is crushingly intense—the blue and red neon signs around Pop’s establishment, the never-ending sounds of traffic, the stench of someone’s vomit down the block, people conversing about trivialities, that one dog barking in the distance somewhere, the amalgamation of smells resulted by placing a bakery and a dumpster in such close proximity to one another... She hears everything, smells everything, and the Earth beneath her is moving a million miles per millisecond, impossibly fast.

It’s always the soft feeds that commit the crime of sensory overload. Always.

But usually not to this degree.

Somehow, she manages to make her way back into the chock’lit shoppe without stumbling, one arm shielding her eyes while the other pushes the door open. She forgets about the bell, and winces when it rings. Some oldie is loudly playing on the jukebox. Mom is right where she left her, but talking to the redheaded boy from earlier. They’re having a nice conversation about the boy’s father until they see her. Mom nearly drops the crinkly bag holding Smithers’ food, but quickly shoves it into the boy’s arms instead.

“ _Mija_ , what happened?!” she cries, immediately coming to her rescue and catching her when her legs give way. With complete ease, Mom holds her up by her torso, encouraging Veronica to throw her arms around her neck to steady herself, which she does, and gets a big whiff of vanilla shampoo when she buries her face into her shoulder. “Let’s go sit down, baby, I’ve got you...”

Veronica shakes her head and faces inward, cheek resting against Mom’s shoulder, gulping down unnecessary amounts of oxygen to try to cancel the noise around her. She withdraws her left arm to touch Mom’s chest, tracing her icy collarbone with a shaky finger.

“It’ll pass...” she whispers, closing her eyes. “It always does...”

Mom makes her take a seat anyway, and leads her to the closest booth to their left. Together, she and the redheaded boy gently lie her on the bright red cushion seat, feet steadily on the ground. A hot, careful hand places her left arm over her eyes, and a warm something resembling a jacket is placed over her stomach. The jukebox finally stops playing.

“I’m going to get the car, okay?” Mom says, placing a cold hand on her knee. “Archie will stay with you in the meantime. Deep breaths, baby, you’re going to be o—no need to call for an ambulance, Pops, she’ll be fine!” Smithers’ bag of food crinkles loudly as it changes hands once again, and in the same minute, the little bell jingles. Veronica moans weakly.

“Your mom will be right back...” someone assures her. He’s either whispering or she’s calming down now. Good.

There is movement on her right—something shuffling towards her, and the seat on the other side of the booth she is in groans under the new weight being forced upon it. After a moment of leaving it be, Veronica slowly removes her arm, bracing herself for the pain.

The first thing she sees is the redheaded boy, Archie, blocking her direct light as he stares down at her, face ghost-white. He closes his eyes when they make contact, breathing a sigh, and his shoulders drop.

“How are you feeling, Veronica?” he asks. He jumps when she goes to sit up, smoothing the back of his letterman’s jacket as she examines it. The texture is nice. “Maybe you shouldn’t be getting up—”

She manages a light chuckle, reaching out to hand him his property back. “It’s fine, Archiekins. The danger’s passed. Thank you for looking out for me.” She turns to acknowledge whatever came to her table and is a little disappointed when she sees the other boy from earlier, sitting on top of the seat rather than in it, instead of Cheryl. Guess Mom wasn’t able to eat her either, or maybe she left. Regardless, she smiles at him, too. “Hey. Nice whoopee cap. I haven’t seen one of those in ages.”

The other boy, a brunet hiding beneath his vintage hat, smirks softly. “Thanks.”

She can see his breath, pungent with the overwhelming odor of burgers, drifting out of his mouth like a trail of pixie dust. She can’t help but knit her brow as it hits her in the face. “Just out of curiosity, are you trying to go for the world’s record in burger consummation, or just Riverdale’s?”

“Hey,” he says to Archie, breaking out into a grin, “she knows what’s up.” He hops from his seat to stand beside Archie extending a hand to her. “I’m Jughead. Pleasure to meet you, Veronica Lodge.”

“Pleasure’s all mine...” She giggles when he falters at her touch. “Betty reacted the same way.”

* * *

She wakes up to Mom dabbing a damp cloth on her forehead, mumbling prayers left and right. Betty groans a little and stretches her legs beneath her blanket while her arms find their way above her head.

“Good morning, Mom,” she murmurs, smiling softly.

Mom mirrors her whilst taking one of her hands and kissing her knuckles. “How are you feeling, Elizabeth?”

She shrugs. “Better, I guess.” Her memory of the day before is foggy to say the least. First, she saw Cheryl at Pop’s, then Cheryl slapped her and she ran home in tears. But then, there came this...  _rush_ of euphoria. She was relieved of all her stresses and burdens. For a time, she even forgot about Polly. Everything was beautiful and she was completely in tune with the universe... All of Mom felt warm, like a fluffy blanket fresh from the dryer; her bathwater tickled her in places it normally wouldn’t; her room suddenly had fairy lights strung about—and Betty didn’t stop smiling for a single second of it.

Now, though, as she tries to get up, Mom pushes her down, the flat of her palm easily matching the weight of ten textbooks on her chest.

“I think you should stay home today, sweetie. I’ll tell Archie to go—”

Betty shakes her head vehemently. “I have obligations, Mom! I’m showing the new girl around school today...”

Frowning, Mom knits her brow, but doesn’t lift her hand. “Is that who you were mumbling about last night? Victoria Boggs, or something?”

“Veronica Lodge, Mom...” She wriggles under her crushing hand, grunting weakly trying to free herself. “Mom... please stop pressing down...”

Surprisingly, Mom obeys and gets up from her bed, taking her bowl of cold water and cloth with her without another word. Betty heaves a sigh, and lays still, staring at her plain white ceiling. Where does Veronica fit into yesterday’s events? She was at Pop’s, that was for sure... and then Cheryl happened. And then... what?

It hits her mid-yawn.

She yanks back the covers and rushes to the bathroom down the hall. Cheryl hits unusually hard—even a simple slap takes about a week to disappear. She never did it where anyone saw, of course, but the fact still remained.

Nothing. Somehow, Veronica Lodge made it disappear.

Just to make sure, she checks multiple times throughout her morning routine. Getting dressed, check. Brushing teeth, check. Shower, check. Even in the passenger seat of Archie’s car, check.

She lets Archie touch it to make sure for himself.

“Wow, Betty,” he breathes, “That’s... cool.”

“Cool as _ice_ , Archie. She’s like Elsa without the magic.”

He nods, moving to pat her shoulder before starting the engine. “As long as you’re okay.” They’re barely onto the main road before he adds, “I don’t suppose I could talk you into filing assault charges, can I?”

She shakes her head. “It’s a moot point.”

The sky is overcast when Archie drops her off at the front of the school because Reggie Mantle stole his parking spot (again). She makes her way to Weatherbee’s office, and an ear-splitting grin appears halfway through, pulling at her face the more she tries to resist. It’s the thought of seeing Veronica again, she decides, even though she doesn’t understand _why_ the prospect excites her. It’s not like she hasn’t shown anyone around school a million times before since the first grade.

She’s able to tone it down when she sees they’re already waiting for her as she turns the corner to the main office. Hermione Lodge paces back and forth, fidgeting with the strap of her bag. Veronica leans by the door, shouldering one of her own, brown eyes following her mother’s every move, seemingly amused. When she can’t take it anymore, Veronica gently grabs her by the arm, startling her to an abrupt halt with a helpful, “ _Mom_ , relax.”

One hand clutching her backpack, Betty jogs the rest of the way down the hall, noting how Veronica’s face lights up, jaw dropping like she’s seeing someone gorgeous instead of plain old Elizabeth Cooper.

“Hi!” she calls as she nears, catching Mrs. Lodge’s attention, whose eyes widen instantly. Betty extends a hand preemptively. “I’m so sorry if I kept you waiting—my mom didn’t want me to come today, I—”

“Are you—I’m sorry—are you by any chance... Alice’s daughter?” Mrs. Lodge asks, tentatively shaking her hand. It’s almost as cold as Veronica’s was yesterday, protected only by a thin silk glove.

Betty nods, flashing a warm smile. “She’d want me to introduce myself as Elizabeth, but please, call me Betty.”

“Oh, my goodness, you look _exactly_ like your mother, look at you...!” Mrs. Lodge gasps, taking hold of her other hand to slowly spin her around. “A bit thinner, perhaps, but still pretty as a picture. You got her good genes.”

Crossing her arms, Veronica scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Jeeze, Mom, do you know everyone in this town on a molecular level?”

Her mother responds in kind, releasing Betty’s hands to roll her eyes at her daughter. “ _Of course_ , Ronnie, I grew up here, remember?” She turns back to Betty, placing a cool hand on Betty’s left cheek, the one Veronica had healed only yesterday, and caresses it with her thumb. “If I know Alice, any daughter of hers is definitely someone I can trust to look after my Veronica on her first day.”

This time, Betty’s nod is halfhearted, her smile modest. It’s probably for the best Mrs. Lodge doesn’t know Mom as well as she thinks.

If she did, she wouldn’t trust Polly with a pencil.

* * *

Betty’s different today somehow. Side effects of soft feedings don’t usually include melancholy—or any personality shifts, really—so her languor has clearly worn off, suggesting her current state has nothing to do with yesterday’s surprise feeding. Still, Veronica keeps her eyes open just in case. Maybe people of small towns show different symptoms than those of city dwellers.

After the tour is basically over, they stop by Betty’s locker to drop off her backpack. She catches glimpses of pictures held up by little clips—pictures of Archie and Jughead being bros, and Betty herself, holding up a peace sign, smiling bright. Other than a pencil case and some other textbooks, those are the only personal things of decoration.

“You okay, Betty?” she asks, leaning against the lockers beside her, “What’s got you so gloomy, B?”

A blonde ponytail swishes from side to side as Betty shakes her head, closing her locker door and twisting the dial.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing...” she mumbles, hugging her binder to her chest protectively. Blue eyes dart from Veronica to down the hall before coming back around. “Let’s get you to class.”

Veronica narrows her eyes, dropping her bag, now full of textbooks, on the floor to cross her arms, and Betty jumps at the noise.

“Is it Cheryl? Did she hurt you again?” She bites her lip when Betty’s answer is the same, averting her gaze to look at the shoes of other students walking by, hugging her books even tighter, shoulders hunching in attempt to shrink into herself.

“No...” she whispers, “Please stop asking...”

 _Easy, V. She’ll tell you when she tells you_.

Reluctantly she lets the matter drop, and Betty leads her down the hall to her English class, her defensive stance lessening with each step she takes. She shows Veronica into the classroom with an open palm, but before Betty can scurry off, Veronica grabs hold of her soft, warm wrist, making sure to be gentle when she pulls her aside to avoid oncoming traffic.

Blue eyes wide as the open plains stare back at her regardless of her efforts. Betty sucks in a breath, probably getting ready to scream, or trying to suppress one.

Veronica fumbles at the sight of her so afraid, opening and closing her mouth before she manages to breathe a quiet, “I—I’m sorry.”

She lets her go as the bell rings its loud, irritating noise above their heads. To her surprise, and relief, Betty relaxes, even giving her hand a good squeeze.

“Wait for me here after your class, okay?”

Veronica nods, sucking in a breath of her own when Betty shows the faintest of smiles before turning the corner and disappearing. Maybe it’s a sign she’s been forgiven for prying?

“Awwwwwh, little Betty Boop ran away?”

When she turns around, Veronica almost jumps at the sight of Cheryl Blossom standing directly behind her, _way_ too close, leering at her, blood red lips to match her long red hair.

 _Ohhh_... _fuck_.

“We haven’t been properly introduced,” she goes on, grabbing Veronica’s hand instead of first offering hers, “I’m Cheryl Blossom, head of the Riverdale Vixens, Twitter handle @CherylBombshell. You must be Veronica Lodge— _wow_ , your hand is like, really cold.”

Seizing the opportunity to take it back, Veronica curls her fingers against her chest.

“I’m a cold person,” she shrugs, “and I don’t warm up to abusive exes.”

She moves to pass her into the classroom, and Cheryl lets her with a click of her tongue.

“Eavesdropping is a bad habit, you know,” she sighs, taking the empty seat next to her in the front. “So, why were you apologizing to Betty?”

Veronica scoffs. “Seriously?”

“Well—” Cheryl shrugs, digging her elbow into the desk and resting her cheek on her knuckles, “I didn’t say I was above doing it myself.” She smirks, leaning closer to her ear. “It’s about her sister, isn’t it? Polly Pocket’s been missing for a year now and poor Betty’s still thinking big sister’s gonna come home soon.”

 _Fuck me_.

“Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to air others’ dirty laundry, Cheryl?” She puts her bag on her lap and opens it, pretending she doesn’t see the orange spine of her English textbook at the very front. Cheryl doesn’t buy her act for a second, and slides the hand she used to slap Betty under her chin and makes her look into coal-black eyes. If Veronica could get chills, she probably would.

“This concerns more than just Betty-boo, Ronniekins,” Cheryl purrs. She inches her face closer and closer, a finger to her lips, and whispers, “It’s _my_ laundry, too.”

Cheryl doesn’t let her break contact for a while, her long, almost claw-like fingers tracing Veronica’s jaw as she gazes deep into her eyes, searching for something within them. She focuses on one eye for several long seconds before going to the next. Ruby red lips purse in clear confusion when she finally pulls away, having not found what she wanted to see, and twirling a lock of hair around her forefinger.

“ _What_?” Veronica snaps. Cheryl blinks innocently.

“Nothing,” she answers smoothly, giving a light shrug, “just wondering what you are is all.”

Veronica offers a wry smile. “I’m annoyed.” She shuts her bag and zips it up, slinging the strap over her shoulder while she stands. “And now I’m gone.”

Cheryl doesn’t follow her to the back. Thank God.

On the other hand... this situation could very easily head south if she isn’t careful. This Blossom bitch does what she wants, according to Betty, and Veronica’s willing to bet illegal activity is the least of her worries.

 _Should’ve pushed more instead of going to sleep. Why didn’t Mom just_ eat _her?_

Unless...

What if this Blossom is something that can’t be eaten?

* * *

After school, Betty is in better spirits. Cheryl has kept herself scarce all day—a first for the most popular girl in school if you ask her—and Jughead’s anxious to get his usual hamburgers. She agrees to meet up with him in the courtyard after she heads to History, intent on picking up Veronica and inviting her to go Pop’s with them and Archie. Surely Veronica has to be hungry, she reasons, after spending the entire lunch period brooding behind her phone.

On second thought, she was probably like that because she’s upset by what happened that morning. Veronica only had good intentions when asking her about Cheryl, and Betty just shut her down without explanation. Good job. For once, Betty wishes Cheryl _was_ the root of her discomfort at the time, but it’s so easy to just blame everything on her, and she doesn’t deserve that. No one does.

How is she going to explain to Veronica her mother’s assumption is flawed? It’s such a stupid thing to fuss over, especially when the compliment placed in that assumption was from a good place.

Peeking through the window of the closed classroom door, she sees Veronica sitting at the desk she normally uses up front, chin resting against her palm in wait for the teacher to dismiss them from his class, the fingers of her right hand busily tapping away. When the class is finally allowed to leave, a long, pale arm reaches forth and taps Veronica’s shoulder with a slender finger. Betty’s breath quickens.

Cheryl.

She has just enough time to see Veronica get to her feet and turn around before she has to move out of the way so she isn’t blocking the door. When most of the students have left, Betty peers into the classroom.

Veronica has her arms crossed, and her sour mood hasn’t improved, as tends to be the case when dealing with Miss. Blossom. She glares at her with glorious disdain, her pretty face an impenetrable mask of steel as Cheryl whispers what are most likely insults about her height, weight, and intelligence. This goes on for what seems to Betty a long time before Veronica sighs loudly.

“Are you done? I have a mani-pedi at three-thirty.”

Cheryl waves her off dismissively. “That’s fine, Ronniekins. As long as you remember this...” Betty clamps her hand over her mouth as she leans in and whispers something in Veronica’s ear.

 _You’re mine, always, and **only** mine_.

She has to look away before they see her. Before her heart gives her up with how loud it is, or just _gives_. She can’t catch her eavesdropping again. She’ll kill her. Something weighs her down; she can feel herself slowly and surely falling to the floor. This is it. She’s done. The end is finally here, crashing down on her like a bolt of lightning.

“ _Betty? **Betty**? Oh, my God, okay_...”

Ronnie help me I can’t move—

“ _I’m going to_... _here, let me just move your hands_...”

No please don’t touch me PLEASE—

“ _O_ — _okay, out of focus, no problem_.”

I’m scared—I need help—

“ _Try to breathe, B, I’m here_...”

Where are you? Everything’s blurry—

“ _Focus on my_ _voi_ ce, Betty.”

 _Okay_ —

“Can you hear me?”

 _Of course I can but I can’t_ —

“Slow breaths... Good. Again... I’m right here, B. I'm holding your hands. Focus only on my voice.”

 _Okay_.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you. No one is going to hurt you. Cheryl’s gone now.”

 _Cheryl’s gone. She can’t hurt me_.

“Mm-hm. I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe.”

 _I’m safe_.

“You’re doing great, Betty. Breathe. You don’t need to be afraid.”

 _I’m not afraid_.

“I’m going to let you go now, okay? Let your focus fade away...”

 _No, wait_ — _I’m not ready!_

* * *

Veronica closes her eyes and severs the connection, rendering herself completely unprepared when Betty suddenly flies forward and throws her arms around her shoulders, breath hot and heavy against her skin. She’s able to catch herself before they both fall over, but doesn’t return the embrace.

She stands frozen as Betty calms again, nuzzling her shoulder with her warm, soft cheek, and feebly clutching at the back of her blouse. The most Veronica dares to do is pat her on the back lest she triggers another feeding. _If_ she triggers another feeding. Either way, better to be safe than sorry.

They remain still for another thirty seconds by her count, before she hears the closest double doors open and Jughead rears his whoopee capped-head out from behind a group of students turning the corner to leave the hall. He stops abruptly, shoes squeaking, eyes widening at the sight of her trying not to hold Betty, and, quick as he came, his surprise darkens to a glower.

“Archie’s waiting in the car to head to Pop’s,” he announces, startling Betty into pulling away. He loses his sour look when she turns to acknowledge him, clearly sneaking in a chuckle when a blonde ponytail smacks Veronica in the face.

“W-we’ll be right there,” Betty assures him. “Sorry for making you wait.”

Veronica sighs. The world’s record of burgers it is.

~

When she gets home that evening, Mom is playing Yahtzee with Smithers in the living room. Veronica seats herself in her father’s armchair and watches for a few rounds until Smithers forfeits to prepare dinner and Mom puts the game away.

“How was your first day at Riverdale High, Ronnie?” she asks, patting the empty spot on the loveseat as an incentive.

Veronica shrugs as she moves to sit, letting Mom take hold of her hands. “It’s not Fame, but it’ll do.” She waits patiently while Mom has a good chuckle over it before adding solemnly, “Cheryl’s in a few of my classes.”

Mom’s smile fades, brow knitting together in her usual worried fashion. “Really? Is she bothering you?”

 _Not yet_.

“I’m just wondering... is she human? Theoretically, one of us can, say, eat her if she’s channeling Season One Regina Mills, right?”

Mom stares at her for a time before she sighs and moves over, patting her lap. Veronica lays her head down and closes her eyes, enjoying the tingly sensation of nails trailing down her bare skin, alternating between combing through her hair and rubbing her shoulder like a summer breeze.

“There are times,” Mom begins softly, “where it’s better not to ask questions like that. I’ve known her mother for most of my life, and if I had the chance to get away with sucking the life out of her either way... I wouldn’t.” She stops at Veronica’s shoulder, gripping it lightly. “She’s worse than we are, _mija_ , she and that whole family are a hundred times worse. We take and give in moderation, but they—they kill everything they touch once they see it.”

Veronica shifts her focus, twisting her neck to look up. Mom stares straight ahead at the idle flatscreen, her mouth slightly agape, all the color she gained from a recent feeding instantly gone, her brown eyes equally bleary. She doesn’t even blink.

“Mom?” Fear is not in her vocabulary. Haunted is reserved for ghosts. “What are they? What are the Blossoms?”

Mom finally closes her eyes. She doesn’t speak for another minute, leaving Veronica racing to try and brace herself for the worst.

She takes in unneeded amounts of air, chest heaving up and down as she works herself up. Beating around the bush may be a good tactic for her, but it’s absolutely terrifying when Mom does it.

“They’re Vampire Slayers, aren’t they?” she asks, pushing herself up to meet Mom’s level. “We can’t feed off the blood of a Slayer?” Mom shakes her head.

“No, baby. The Blossoms are not Slayers,” she answers, her voice a low, low whisper. When she opens her eyes, her irises are darker than usual. “They’re succubi.”


End file.
